Snowmaiden
by Glosswen
Summary: A fairytale from Middle Earth. Or rather an elftale? Elves have a rather odd sense of humour, and old Bess doesn't like it. Not a single bit, thank you very much. When she makes this known, one of the elves who mocked her is surprisingly eager to make amends, and Bess starts to suspect that his behaviour resembles...courting? Can that be? Clearly, she is too old for him. Or is she?
1. Chapter 1

This is a translation of "Schneemädchen" by Sionon Klingensang on " "

The old woman had trouble to draw herself up. Finally she had gathered enough firewood. Now, it was just a matter of getting home before sunset. But her old limbs refused to move as briskly as she would have liked.

"Hurry up!" The voice sounded like little bells.

„If you hurry, you can overtake that snail there!" said a voice in the treetops over her head.

From some bushes at the wayside she heard a ripple of laughter.

Elves. How she detested those creatures!

„It's all very well for you to laugh at me" she spat. "All very well – you don't know what life is like, because you don't know what death is like, you don't know nothing at all, stupid, vain things you are!"

And to emphasize her words she spat in the direction from whence she had heard the laughter.

The anger lent her strength, she hobbled a little bit faster. Two of the elves continued to mock her, but the one hidden in the bushes seemed to hold his tongue. Had her spittle really hit him?

She didn't think so. Weren't those stupid elves always oh so nimble and swift? And anyway, it didn't matter, wouldn't even matter if an elf-lord incarcerated her in the dungeon of his secret forest castle as punishment for this insult. She was old, it wouldn't be for long. And she would at least have seen something else than her mean little hut before she died. It was very much like a prison anyway.

"Why are you so sad?"

She started with fright. There he stood, directly beside her, the elf with the rippling laughter. Fair hair he had, almost golden, as the fair folk had in all the tales, and his eyes seemed to mirror the blue of the late summer's sky.

"Why, because I'm old and cannot walk anymore, and even have to endure your stupid mockery on top of it. That's why!" She blinked the tears away. Why was she weeping? She could not even remember when she had last shed a tear. Her life was hard enough anyway, she had never lamented, never cried...but no one had asked how she felt, either. Not, at least, as if they really wanted to know.

"I am sorry. I did not want that", he replied, regarding her with his blue eyes, looking like an innocent little boy. "Let me carry that wood for you."

"No", she snarled and held the meagre fruit of her labour more tightly. "I...I can carry it myself." Why was she so timid, all of a sudden? Why didn't she just tell him she wouldn't let him steal it?

"Then tell me why you are really sad"

„Not now. Have to go home." Maybe she would be a tiny bit less tired and feel more confident tomorrow. Then, maybe, she would tell him to get lost.

"Tomorrow, then? Will you be here again?"

„The firewood won't gather itself."

"I will wait for you."

And with this, he vanished. Peace, finally.

But...maybe she should have let him carry the wood. It seemed to get the heavier the nearer she got to her little hut. Elven magic? His revenge for her refusal to take part in his little prank? Probably not. She was getting old, that was all there was to it. It was a miracle in itself that she was still alive.


	2. Chapter 2

When she came to the forest the next day, she was met by the elf.

"There – I have gathered that for you", he said plainly.

She stared incredulously at the heap of firewood he was pointing at. It was more than she could gather on one whole day. Maybe...maybe the elf was serious after all. The wood looked real enough, and he wouldn't have worked so long for nothing...would he?

"Now...will you tell me why you are sad?"

Oh that damned, innocent voice of his – it was too easy to forget what a spiteful creature he was. If only one of her baby boys had lived, then maybe she would be able to resist his tilted head and big eyes...maybe she would be used to it. But she was not.

"Well...I have time now", she admitted, and sat down on a tree stump. "If you really want to know...I have been stupid. When I was a maiden, I married for love. The man was no good, treated me like his servant, or worse."

She fell silent when she remembered a day long gone, the day of her daughter's birth.

"_Is it alive?"_

_The baby's screaming answered her question. _

„_A girl", stated the midwife and handed the child to her. __"Girls are tough. But I don't think you'll ever have a son."_

_The girl stopped screaming and looked at her with big brown eyes, clutching her thumb with a tiny fist. _

_With a loud creak the door opened. _

"_Is it a boy?"_

"_No". The young mother looked at the child in her arms, then at her husband. "She lives, that's better. And if you ever lay a finger on her, then, I swear, I'll kill you."_

"However... a lovely child he made me", she continued. „A little girl. Such a lovely child…" Her eyes welled up with tears.

" Is that not a good thing?"

"It was...it surely was, but...the little one...died. Three years old she was. It...it was a bad cold that killed her. Yes. A bad cold." She wiped her face with her sleeve. "The man died, too. He...well...drank himself to death, shortly after."

Again she fell silent. The elf waited patiently.

„Well, after that I was smarter. Not smart enough to stay single, but this time, I married for money. Or so I thought. He had already gambled away the money I thought he had inherited. A gambler he was, my second husband, and he gambled away what little money I had saved as well. He never beat me, though. Decent enough he was. It's just a pity that he never cared to father a child...at least not that I know of, that is...but anyhow, he's long dead, too, and now I'm an old crone and no one will remember me when I'm dead." She reached for her walking stick and draw herself to her feet. "So, now you know why I am sad. That's life...it's crappy, and then you die, anyway...well, not you, of course." She chuckled mirthlessly. "No, not you. But me."

„That's not true!"

„Not for you, obviously. For me, it is. So, and now I need to gather some firewood, it's late..."

"You mean, that's not enough?" He pointed at the heap of firewood she had all forgotten about.

"And that's really...for me? A present?"

"Of course it is. I said so, didn't I?"

How innocent they could sound, the shrewd bastards...but...what if he was honest after all?

"Well, now...maybe it is better if you carry it for me." That meant he would find out where she lived...but if he wanted to know, he'd find out anyway.

It was a strange feeling, to be back home so early, while the sun was still shining.

"Here it is? That is a very ugly house." The elf carefully placed the firewood on the stack beside the wall.

Obviously, he had no manners at all. He was right, though. It sure was not pretty, the little hut. The drunkard had never repaired it, on account of being too drunk, and the gambler had never been at home anyway...of course she herself had tried to do something, now and then, but there was much to do inside the house, so she had never really gotten around to do more than what was most necessary on the outside.

„Well, now, I would prefer a prettier one, too, but what can I do?" Of course she could move in with her brother and be treated like a servant by her sister-in-law...but she was fed up with that. When she had to work all day, anyway, she could just as well do it for herself. It wouldn't be for long anyway.

"What do you do all day?"

"Well, now, I don't have to gather firewood anymore, so I guess I'll clean the house." It was about time that she got around to that, the whole house was covered with dirt. Except the kitchen, of course...she could not afford to not keep the kitchen clean, could not afford to throw away food that had fallen out of her shaky old hands on a dirty floor. "That...the firewood...that was...kind of you" she finally brought herself to say. It was probably just a joke, one of those strange elvish jests she didn't understand. She wondered whether he would laugh about it someday, and whether she would cry when he did.

He smiled. "It was intended to be. Do you want me to go away?"

„Would be better."

„Until tomorrow, then." He didn't even seem disappointed of having been sent away in this manner when he walked away.

Elves.

They sure were strange.

She managed to clean the whole house, almost at least. And it was so comfortable to sit in a clean parlour, spinning wool by the light of a little tallow candle, even though it made her old hands ache. It certainly was better than gathering wood all day.

In the following night she woke, long before dawn. There was a noise in the attic. Probably just mice, or rats. She would have to set some traps.

Wasn't it a bit loud for rats, though? It sounded as if something had fallen over...burglars? She didn't own anything worth stealing. Not in the attic, anyway. What little money she owned was under her mattress. And the scarce supply of food for the winter was in the cellar...but nobody would steal that. Turnips and parsnips, nothing fancy.

No, there was no reason to fear burglars. If they murdered her in her sleep, well, she would be dead a little sooner. Nothing to worry about.

She rolled over, determined to get back to sleep immediately. It took her a while.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, she had just finished her breakfast, there was a knock at the door.

"Oh – It's you." Her brother, of course, whom else had she expected? "Why are you here?"

"I was just passing by...wanted to see how you get by...very well by the looks of it."

"I wouldn't call that well, but yes, I'm scraping by."

"You could afford to have the roof repaired." He sounded almost reproachful, as if he now felt he had wasted the few copper coins he had grudgingly given her in the past few years.

"The roof? Why, the old hole is still there, but at least it hasn't gotten worse."

„There is no hole anymore", he said angrily. "You're rolling in money, you are, and you didn't tell me!"

"Now, now, don't talk nonsense. I'll show you where the hole is – you must have overlooked it – I have repaired it, after all, makeshift, but still..." She went outside, took some steps away from the house – and stared at the roof. The hole, the big hole that the storm had ripped into the roof – it wasn't there anymore. Vanished. As if it had never been there.

„Why, now, that is…well, I'll be jiggered!" The elf. It had to have been the elf. Maybe he considered it funny. Or he had disliked the ugly, broken roof so much that he had felt the urge ro repair it?

Elves.

"So you want to claim you didn't have the roof repaired?"

"Why, now, with which money? No, how could I afford to pay workers? A husband I haven't had for all those years, to whom I could have told to do it." The boards she had nailed to the roof beams had already been rotten and mouldy, but she hadn't felt up to making another makeshift repair.

"Maybe you have a secret admirer." He laughed aloud at his own joke.

She probably would have laughed herself, if it hadn't been about her. A secret admirer – what a funny thought! Pretty she had never been, with her crooked nose and the countless moles on her face and elsewhere. Not too ugly to get a husband, sure, but it had been she who had thrown herself at the men...and they had taken her, knowing they couldn't do better.

"Why, yes, certainly I must have a secret admirer. I get along."

"I'll be on my way", her brother replied. "If you need something, you know where I live."

"Yes, yes..." She'd rather die than knock at his beautifully decorated front door like a beggar-woman. And she'd rather bite off her tongue than ask his young wife for even just a pound of flour, much less money.

After all, she knew only too well that he only visited her, as he did, to avoid gossip, as gossip there would be if it was known that he didn't take care of his widowed sister, that he let her starve.

Very likely there already was gossip, about her being too stubborn to do what was expected, namely to serve as a nanny for the nieces and nephews that her brother had fathered, much later in his life than she would have deemed appropriate.

When he was gone she started to pull the rest of the turnips out of the soil of her little garden. Her back ached, but it was no use to complain. What had to be done had to be done. Only too soon, the first frost would come, and it wouldn't ask whether the harvest had been brought in.

"Do you like the new roof? My friends helped to repair it."

He again. She probably should be grateful, but felt little inclined to be. He would demand something in return soon enough, and it probably would be a price she wasn't willing to pay. Oh yes, she knew what they said about elves. She had no way of telling what the elf thought in his pretty head, just that she probably wouldn't like it.

"Why, it looks nice. Where did you get the slates?" Probably stolen, from other houses, whose owners would demand them back...

"Bought yesterday."

She nodded slowly. Hopefully, that was true. „What did you pay? I'll give you the money." It was bad enough to have her brother tell her to be grateful for everything he had done for her. She wouldn't suffer to be indebted to an elf.

"It's a gift. You don't have to give me money."

"You didn't ask whether I want a gift. How much?"

He looked at his feet, and quietly told her the price of the cheapest kind of slates. Then he told her, how many slates he had bought. She noticed that he carefully avoided to mention the price and the quality of slates in the same sentence.

Well, it wasn't her fault if he lied. Or not-lied, nevertheless trying to deceive her.

"Good. Wait..." She got up using the little birch tree beside the vegetable patch as a crutch, and walked into the house. The money under her mattress was still there. She counted it...it would be enough.

Outside, the elf stood there as she had left him.

"There." She pressed the coins into his hand.

He stared at them as if they were rubbish. "I am sorry", he murmured, pocketing the money. "Do...do you want me to leave and never return?"

„Why, now…" Again she knelt down beside the vegetable patch. „If you don't have anything better to do with your time than to lounge about here...it's all the same to me."

„Thank you." He shifted uneasily. „I…I have to go now. Er. That's for you". He laid something down beside her. "It's not worth much, though", he explained, then vanished soundlessly, swift as the wind.

She turned to look at his present. It was a bunch of little rose twigs, with rose hips on them, and some yellow leaves. Looked as if he had just ripped it off the trees. Pretty it was, though. Why had he done that? To cheer up a poor old woman? Could elves even feel compassion?

She didn't get rid of him. He would come to her house with a bunch of late wild flowers, or wait for her in the forest with a heap of firewood. The flowers were always mixed with grass, probably he just took a handful of what was there.

Pretty, though, they always were. Like a little slice of meadow.

Not like the meadows she knew, however, but like the meadows she remembered from her childhood, meadows full of magic and mysteries, and hope and rays of sunlight. Which was strange, considering that she knew all the flowers by name.

Maybe it was because an elf had given them to her.

Once, she saw him in the forest, but he didn't notice her. He was picking up twigs, looking at them, then throwing them away again. He had gotten tired of gathering firewood for her, apparently.

She watched him for a while. Fair he was, with his golden hair, almost unreal, and now she remembered how much she had longed to see elves when she had been a child. Ha, she had been cured of that fast enough when she had had that doubtful "pleasure", late in her life. However, she delighted in watching him, now that she knew he didn't notice her. At other times, she now realized, she shied away from looking at him directly. He might seem like a child in many things, but still...there was something about him, something strange and elvish that intimidated her.

He walked slowly, still picking up a twig here, staring at a tree there, without noticing her.

She went about her work as usual, and she had just wrapped the firewood – dry branches and twigs – in a coarse cloth, when she realized that the elf was standing beside her.

"Let me carry that", he said. "You take this." And he gave her a fragile something, constructed of hawthorn twigs with the red fruits still on them, and fern. It was not very much like a bunch of flowers, and looked as if he had put even less effort in it than in his other little presents.

It looked like winter. Like winter and baked apples and cosy fire in the hearth, and ice flowers at the window. And snow in the morning, soft, fluffy snowflakes.

„What do they call you?" he asked when he had placed the new firewood on the staple besides the hut.

She was about to answer when she remembered what they said about elves and names. An elf, the tale went, had limitless power over anyone whose true name was known to him.

"Call me? Why, it is of no use to you to know that, for I don't want to be called, anymore, ever. I have been called and have come running too many times already. I won't do it ever again, so you need not call me."

„No, call you, I need not, that much is true", he replied. "But nice it would have been, nevertheless, to know your name."

And then he was gone.

The wood was real, it always was, she always checked, by burning a little twig from every heap. If it burned, it couldn't be an elvish magic trick, right? No such nonsense as gold that turned into coal as soon as you pocketed it, as it happened in the old tales...maybe they were only tales, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

"Why are you here so often?" she finally asked, on the last day of autumn on which she had been out to gather beechnuts, but not had had to bend down one single time. The winter was in the air, she could feel it in her bones.

"I like your hair."

That was an elf-answer. Nonsense, like the songs they sang when they frolicked around in the treetops.

"It is beautiful. Like snow." He touched the white bun in which she had always styled her hair, since her first marriage. .

„Glossfindel…Glosswen...Glosswen nîn."

She did not ask what the elven words meant, maybe it was just mockery. Certainly it was, but she preferred the illusion that, maybe, he really liked her hair.

„I will not stay for the winter", he said after awhile. "We are going to visit my grandparents."

"So, are you?" It was strange, she had gotten used to him, somehow. She would miss it, to see him standing here, his head tilted like a child, handing her a present like a grandchild would, if she had one...just more pretty. Yes, it couldn't be by chance that the flowers he gave her seemed more beautiful than those she saw on the meadow outside. There had to be an elvish charm on them.

„You are poor."

She knew that. Why did he tell her?

"I have been apprenticed to a goldsmith for some time now..." He reached into a hidden pocket of his autumn-coloured raiment. "Look…"

„Oh" She didn't say more, she couldn't say more.

It was lovely. An artful network of silver wires, woven into each other like branches of a tree, yet symmetric...it was like...like a snowflake. Yes, that was what a snowflake looked like if you looked very closely. When she had been a little girl, she had sometimes caught a snowflake, she suddenly remembered.

"Take it, Glosswen, please take it. I had to make it anyway, to prove my skill, the master goldsmith has seen it, I have no use for it anymore. And the silver is not worth much, but I think you can sell it well, if the worst should come to the worst, for the hands of men are not able to craft something as delicate – or so I have heard."

"This is...I cannot accept that..."

"Please. It is mine to give to whomever I want, trust me. I have made it with mine own hands, and I want you to have it. Take it, please."

„Thank you." She didn't have the heart to refuse it a second time. Never had she longed to possess something as much as she longed to own this little snowflake. What did it matter if it was just a stupid elvish joke? If she could only look at it for some more time, it was worth it, even if it turned into a glowing coal and set her house on fire.

„When the niphredil are in flower I will be here again, Glosswen."

"The what?"

"The small flowers. Whitetears."

White teardrops...snowdrops. He would return in spring.


	5. Chapter 5

Winter was long and dark, as winter always was, but this time, it didn't seem quite so dark. The snow, which had often enough appeared like a shroud to her, now glittered and gleamed enchantedly, as it had in her childhood, reminding her only of the elf, and how much he liked her hair. The elf. Why had he never told her his name?

Granted, she had never asked. Now, however, she would have liked to know.

In the evenings, she often laid aside the spindle and took out the silver snowflake. The work of an apprentice – fancy, now, for a human it would be a masterpiece, more than that, even. It seemed strange that the elf should have made it...he was like a child, after all. Not so much when he had been here last time, however...then, he had seemed quite mature...but he could be a couple of hundreds of years old, for all she knew. They didn't age, those elves.

The tales she had heard...not only where there those about elvish jests that weren't quite so funny, there also were the tales about the Lady of the Golden Wood, who was not a playful elf. Splendid, and terrible, but not ridiculous.

The elf might be a child, or rather a young man, whose parents were too lenient with him, and maybe would, in time, change into someone as serious and terrible as this lady.

Those elves sure were strange...would he come again?

Winter was long, and she was a rather boring old woman. The elf would find something else to set his mind on.

On a day in the middle of winter, there was a knock on the door, but again, it was just her brother. "You segregate yourself", he reproached her. "You should have come to visit us. People are talking already. You need to come tomorrow, at the latest."

"Well, if you absolutely want me to...we don't want people to talk, do we?"

The house of her brother had been decorated beautifully by his much younger wife; with green branches, and brazen decorations that glittered like gold, or at least so she thought, for real gold she had never seen.

The children looked around with shining eyes, wearing their best clothes, their faces had been scrubbed until they had become a little red. The whole family was gathered around the big table.

The old woman started to feel sorry for not having come earlier. It had been very kind of her brother to invite her, after all. And the house was decorated so nicely, the food on the table looked so delicious, that she could not imagine anymore that he could just have invited her to silence the gossip.

"Now, don't you want to move in with us, after all, dear sister?"

She smiled. She knew his coaxing tone of voice, very well she knew it, for he had talked just like that when they had both been children, every time he wanted something from her. The elf had reminded her of that...yes, now she remembered. The elf, however, was much better at it.

„Well, now…"

„It's all getting too much for me", her sister-in-law interjected. "I could use some help..."

„Mama", asked the youngest child, a girl of about five years. "Is she the aunt to whom Daddy always gives money instead of buying new toys for us?"

The old woman felt her blood rise into her face. So that was what they talked like about her! Because of some few copper coins...the hand in which she held the knife was shaking so much that a piece of meat fell to the ground.

"Watch out!" her brother said.

"Yes, that's the aunt, but don't talk about that now", her sister-in-law whispered.

She got up, using the edge of the table as a handle, took a little step to the side, then bowed down slowly, and finally managed to seize the piece of meat.

Only when she had sat up again she noticed that the silver snowflake, which she wore on a string around her neck, hidden under her dress, had fallen out.

„What's that?" asked her youngest niece. "Oh, how it glitters!"

"Where did you get that?" demanded her brother. "Why didn't you tell me about it."

"Stolen", her sister-in-law accused her.

She swallowed hard as tears welled up in her eyes. So that was what they took her to be? A thief? "It...I got it as a present."

"That must be quite some fool, who makes a present out of something like this. Do you even know how much that is worth?"

„Why, it sure is priceless"

"It is! You should have told me right away. What a life we shall have when it is sold!"

„No", she replied and closed her hand fast around the delicate snowflake. "No, we won't. It is mine, and it is not to be sold."

Her sister-in-law was about to say something, but her brother seemed to remember what it had meant if she had talked like this when they both were children.

"Let her be, it is hers, after all", he said.


	6. Chapter 6

When spring drew nearer, she got restless. Sometimes, she stepped outside in her nightgown, to look whether the snowdrops were blooming already. It was stupid, of course. He had just meant to tell her that he would be back at the end of winter. Not exactly when the first snowdrops bloomed.

Still, she could not stop doing it. Morning for morning, she stepped outside, and by some miracle, she didn't catch a cold. It was as if she had a candle burning inside her, warming her.

And then, one morning, it was there, the first snowdrop. She carefully picked it, and looked at it for a long time.

"I am back, Glosswen."

There he stood, in his raiment as white as the snow that was now melting. Handsome he was. Strange, that she shouldn't have noticed that before. No, he really was no little boy. Although he had no beard, his shoulders were too broad to be those of a boy, and his eyes, blue as they were, too full of wisdom.

„What does that mean, „Glosswen"?" She pressed the snowdrop to her breast.

„Snowmaiden it means", he stepped closer. "For a snowmaiden you are, with your beautiful hair. Glosswen nîn. You should wear it open more often."

Softly his hand touched her hair, gently he let it slide through his fingers, looking at it as though he really thought it beautiful.

It had to be mockery, could only be mockery, but it didn't sound like it at all...but oh, she had heard how elves could be. Cruel as cats, they said, and cats could be very cruel, you just had to look at them closely to notice.

Of course an elf would be able to say such nice things to her, straightfaced, and without meaning it.

However, there was not much left of her life as it was, so why shouldn't she enjoy such a beautiful dream?

"And who are you? What is your name?"

"Lalaithlanthir I am, Glosswen nîn. I already feared you would never ask."

"I am happy you're back."

She really was. Not only because he brought her the first green herbs of spring, and not because the stack of firewood beside her house had started to grow over night.

No, she was happy to hear him laugh, which sounded like a little waterfall, and the affectionate sound of his voice when he called her Glosswen. Affectionate. Like the son she had never had?

Deep in her heart she knew that it didn't sound like this, but she tried not to think about it.

When the snow had melted, she went into the forest herself, to gather herbs, and he was always there. Lalaithlanthir...what a long, inconvenient name! But she had not forgotten it, although she forgot a lot of things since she had become old.

It happened when she had found the very first cowslip. She bowed down to pick it, and when she stood up again, her hair fell over her shoulders. Lalaithlanthir had pinched her hairpins.

"Why do you never wear it open?" he asked, pouting, and looking so childlike that she had to laugh.

"Well, now, it just is not proper, me being a widow. There..." she handed him the cowslip. "They say, if you eat the first blossom of the year, you'll never fall ill, all year long. It's wasted on me."

"Elves do not fall ill. Take it." He plucked the blossom from the stem. „There." His fingers touched her lips. Warm they felt, like sunrays. She opened her mouth and swallowed the blossom. To not fall ill, no pain in her bones, all winter long...that would be nice.

"I know another spot where it grows", he said. "Let us have a look." He ran away, swift as the wind, but before she could even wonder where he went, he was there again. "I always forget how slow you are, Glosswen nîn." There was no mockery in his voice, he said it affectionately, as if it was a sweet little thing about her, like freckles on her nose.

The other cowslips were not blossoming yet, and she had to sit down on a tree stump to catch her breath.


	7. Chapter 7

"May I braid your hair, Glosswen?"

„If you want to." What was it that made him so fond of her hair? He seemed just like a kitten, who could not pass a ball of yarn without playing with it.

The sun warmed her while she sat on the glade, the nimble fingers of the elf were gliding through her hair. Yes, that was what he was like, a kitten, a sweet little kitten, who played with her and tried to cheer her up. That had to be the reason why she liked him so much, for a child he was not, and the men she was fed up with forever.

„Ready. You have to see yourself, Glossswen nîn. I know of a pond nearby." He assisted her in getting up.

Her reflection in the pond was blurry, for the breeze made little waves in the water, so she could not see her wrinkles, and with the long braids of hair, she fancied she looked just like the maiden she had once been.

"That's pretty, Lalaithlanthir."

„Not pretty. Beautiful. You are beautiful, Glosswen."

She turned, slowly. „Why do you say that?" It confused her when he talked like this. Why did he put such bees under an old woman's bonnet?

"Because it is true, Glosswen nîn."

"And anyway, what does this "nîn" mean?" Maybe that would distract him.

"'Mine' it means. Snowmaiden mine I call you. Do you want to be?" His face was now close to hears, very close. His lips touched her brow. „Do you want to be my snowmaiden?"

„What do you mean by that?"

„What can I mean by it, Glosswen? Reject me if that is your will, but do not ask me foolish questions, for that hurts me. You do not want to hurt me needlessly, do you, Glosswen?" His face was earnest as it had never been before.

Her heart beat loud in her breast. She could no longer deny it: Lalaithlanthir didn't carry himself like the son she had never had, nor like a kitten...a male elf he was, which apparently was something quite different from the men she had known.

"No, that I don't want. And I do like you, too. But...but...you can't just...it is not proper...I am much too old for you!"

"Pray, how old, exactly, are you, Glosswen?"

"Seventy-seven years it now is."

He laughed a silvery laugh. „Oh, Glosswen nîn, that is a pity indeed, for in that case, I am too old for you. Seven hundred times it is now that I saw the niphredil blossom and wither, about ten times as old as you I therefore am. If, however, you still want me, I shall not care about that."

"But...but..." It was absurd, people would laugh, she was old and ugly, even if she was feeling like a young maiden again...but didn't she deserve a bit of happiness? Just a little bit? Should she send it away again, just because it came calling too late, like a maiden would send her lover away if he was late for the tryst?

No. She was not a foolish maiden anymore.

"If you want me ugly old crone, then you shall have me, Lalaithlanthir, then I shall be your snowmaiden."

His laugh was like warm rain in the spring. "You are kidding, Glosswen nîn, but I do not care. Call yourself an ugly old crone if you want to, but be mine." He drew her into his arms, kissed first her brow, then pressed his warm young lips on her withered mouth. "Be mine, Glosswen nîn."

She thought her heart would break from happiness, but not, it still beat, fast and so loudly that she could hear it.

Lalaithlanthir hugged her tightly, caressed her hair and showered the little white plaits he had braided with kisses.


	8. Chapter 8

Spring grew warmer, more and more flowers began to bloom. Lalaithlanthir plaited blossoms into garlands for her head. She always wore her hair open now. After all, it was not as if anyone could see it.

Maybe her lover's elf friends watched from the treetops, laughing at them, but she decided she didn't care, as he continued to kiss her with his soft lips that tasted of spring sun, and braided her hair every morning with his nimble hands.

He kissed her often, but his kisses changed, grew more intense. More ardent, even?

He often laid his hands on her waist as they kissed, embracing her tightly, and she thought she could feel...no, that was impossible.

In truth, though, it was far from impossible. She finally admitted it to herself when she was leaning against the trunk of a beech while kissing him, and his tongue touched her lips.

She didn't really know what she was doing, and suddenly, she had embraced him and pulled him nearer. It felt so good, his body against hers, and she wanted more of it.

"I know of a nice bed of moss nearby, Glosswen nîn. It is very soft...and I can spread out my mantle over it, to make it warmer."

"If only I was a couple of years younger", she sighed.

"What, pray, has your age to do with it, Glosswen nîn?" he asked. "You need not walk far, and you need not walk fast, no, I can even carry you." And he lifted her in his arms as if she was his bride, and to be carried over the doorstep.

"My legs are not the only part of me that is old, Lalaithlanthir. It is...have you ever lain with a woman?"

He laughed his silvery laugh, and whirled her around. His laughter grew louder and louder, until, finally, he had to set her down to catch his breath.

„And straight…straightfaced, too" he panted. „Oh, that's hilariously funny, Glosswen."

"What's so funny about it?" True, she had forgotten how old he was. Of course he would have found some maiden who was no better than she ought to be. He had, after all, had enough time to go looking for such maidens. It still hurt, though, only being one of many. He shouldn't have laughed.

"You are not joking?" he asked, suddenly sober. "You really cannot see it?"

"See what?"

"That I am not married, Glosswen nîn."

"How should I see that?" She didn't know much of the customs of elves...did male elves wear a wedding band? And were they required to remain chaste before marriage? But how would one ensure that...?

"See in my eyes, hear in my voice, and feel in my embrace – but I forgot", he continued with a tinge of sadness to his voice "you are mortal. You truly cannot see it, I suppose."

He gently laid his hands upon her shoulders. "I should have told you, Snowmaiden mine. How strange you must have thought my wooing. Now I realize why you were being so cool, so almost forbidding, all autumn long. Did you even notice I was wooing you? It seemed to me as if you thought it all a bad joke."

"I really have. But not because I thought you married – you are an elf, fair and immortal, and I..."

"It might not happen often, but it does happen", he replied gently. "Did not fair Luthien herself fall in love with a human man?"

"I know nothing of that."

"You don't know the song? Oh, but you must hear it, and I want you to hear it from me, although I am a poor singer – I do not know of any translation into your language, but I'll explain."

So he did, and she leant her head against his shoulder while he sang. His voice was beautiful, and she wondered why he called himself a poor singer – she doubted she could like even the finest of elven singers' voice better than his. To mortal ears, at least, they must sound alike.


	9. Chapter 9

I noticed that some readers are from Germany, and might have read the original text, so I should probably point out that I made some author-approved changes to the text in this translation. Quite noticeable changes in this chapter.

When the song had ended, Lalaithlanthir put his arms around her again. "Now, is there another reason why we cannot lie with each other, Glosswen nîn?" he asked gently.

"It could...hurt me", she answered hesitantly. It had often hurt, long after she had lost her maidenhead, even. "I am dry, like a brittle old leaf. "

"So you have become fragile with age, Snowmaiden mine – should I better call you Glassmaiden? But do not fear, I shall handle you like the finest crystal, if you honour me with your consent."

"I do", she whispered shyly, for she was not used to being asked in so frank a manner, and not used, in truth, to being asked at all.

Lalaithlanthir was true to his word. Although his straightforward questions made her blush more than once, and his nimble fingers strayed to where she would have hesitated even to touch herself, all his caresses were enjoyable.

When she lay in his arms, exhausted and satisfied, she finally understood why her husbands had always fallen asleep so soon after it. She had often watched the first one sleep, in the first days of their marriage, when she had still been in love with him. "That was strange...I don't think I have ever experienced something quite like this", she whispered.

But Lalaithlanthir had not fallen asleep. "Oh, I know, Glosswen nîn, I know, and still, I wonder how it can be, when it is true that you have given birth to a child."

"Oh – no – I did not mean to say...I have lain with my two husbands, of course, but...but...they did not have such nimble fingers." And she blushed like a maiden.

"That cannot be the only reason..." he murmured, looking at her with sadness in his eyes. "I have suspected as much, and am happy for it, but still, it does cause me sorrow...they did not really care for you, did they?"

"No", she replied bitterly. "Not in any manner of speaking."

"I am sorry", he stated gently, "And yet, I am happy, for you remained a maiden and are now my wife."

"Your wife?" She was startled. They had had a "roll in the hay" as people called it – or at least she had thought that. Had it meant more to him?

"My wife" he affirmed. "And I your husband. Now, and forever."

"Till death do us apart", she murmured.

A hint of sorrow passed his face, like the shade of a cloud. "As is custom with mortals, I suppose?"

"Is it not so for elves? Would you have been considered an adulterer amongst your people, for being with me?"

"A what?"

"A man who lies with another man's wife."

"No, for amongst my people you would not haven been considered married until today. There is now", he continued softly "A gleam in your eyes and a grace upon your pace, which will tell every elf that you are married. It is beautiful, and it is a pity you, being mortal, are not able to see it in my eyes."

"So...so what we have done equals marriage among elves? And the gleam in my eyes - it will not fade with your death?" Of course, the very thought was ridiculous, that he should die before her.

"It will not. Although; I suppose, that does not matter, since mortal men cannot see it." Sudden alarm dawned on his face. "You would not wish to marry again, should I die before you, would you, Glosswen nîn? Did you even want to marry me? I thought you knew...I thought..."

"Be still, stupid elf", she chided affectionately. "I, marry again! Who should want an old crone like me?"

"So it was not in jest when you said...oh, Glosswen nîn, do you really think so badly of yourself? Do you really think no one could want to marry you?"

"It is the truth."

"It is not."

"I don't know about elves, but human man don't like white hair. And wrinkles. And crooked noses. I have never been beautiful. I have often wondered how you can consider me beautiful."

"Strange it is", he reflected, "That they should think so. I do admit that I was discouraged by your wrinkles at first, and that I wished my heart had chosen differently, for sad it is to love an autumn leaf that is golden and soon to fall. But how can it matter to a mortal, that his loved one will die soon? It is only a few years that he has to live without her."

"And this is why I would not have agreed to marry you if I had known...I thought you would be free to marry an elven maid after I die."

"What, pray, should I want with an elven maid?"

"So it was only my hair that you were in love with, after all?"

"It was only in jest that I said that, and I thought you had long known...I did not dare to explain to you what I really loved about you – that I love how you walk, love how you defend what is yours, love that you are brave enough to spit in the face of someone who insulted you...you would not have understood."

"You're right, I wouldn't have. You were making fun of me walking so slowly, after all."

"And I have long since been regretting that. Snowmaiden mine, I did not dare admit even to myself why I longed to follow you everywhere, and foolishly I wasted the time in which I could have been with you, tormenting you instead. Glosswen nîn, I cannot say how deeply I regret that – I saw that you were strong, and could not imagine anything I said could ever hurt you."

"Well, it did hurt me, but let's not talk of it anymore. You apologised, and now we are together."

"And still, I am sorry, and wish I had known you many years before, when you were young..."

"If you had, you couldn't have called me Snowmaiden, my hair was black, back then."

"Oh, it must have been lovely", he sighed. "You must have been lovely, like fair Luthien herself."

"She was an elf."

"And yet, she can not have been more beautiful than you are. Not", he said softly "To me, at least."


	10. Chapter 10

Some days after this, her brother called again. "There have been rumours", he said.

"Rumours? What rumours?"

"About you and an elf..."

"Are there?" She tried very hard not to blush. Someone had seen them! Maybe even...

"You walk around with your hair down, they say. " He paused. "They also say that you wear flowers in your hair. That he picks those flowers for you...It seems you really had a secret admirer. He is not so secret now."

"Even if that was true", she replied. "It need not concern you. I am a widow, after all."

"Yes, you are, and I wonder...why? You were married two times, and both your husbands met an untimely end...I recall that you were quite curious when mother told us about the mushrooms of the forest. Especially about those that are only poisonous combined with booze"

"Was I?" He knew. He knew! But...he would not dare...

"You were. And I know for sure that and how you murdered your first husband. The second one..." he shrugged "Probably too. I wonder what your prospective third husband would say if he knew..."

She turned pale. "You won't dare!"

"Oh, I would...but I don't need to tell him. Just give me that silver thing – a present from him, yes? – and I will be as silent as a grave."

"I cannot give it to you. It was a present, as you say, and he would ask where it is."

"You can find a good excuse, I am sure. If not...well, Ivo is still alive, and he might remember that you ate the mushrooms but didn't drink. It is not secret that mushrooms don't agree with him and he never eats them. Your late husband on the other hand..."

"Hold your tongue!" she grabbed the cord to which the silver snowflake was tied. "I'll give it to you, if you promise not to say anything." There was no other way. Her hand trembled, and her brother took the snowflake out of fingers that still tried to clutch it.

"I will be silent as a grave" he promised as his fingers closed around the snowflake.

Lalaithlantir noticed that the plain cord around her neck was missing when he came calling the next morning. "You have sold your snowflake", he said sadly. "Have you fallen on hard times? Were you too proud to tell me?"

"No, no, it isn't like this...but you said I could sell it, and it is true what my brother said, that we could have a cozy life with the money...I have given it to him. He will sell it. You aren't very angry, are you? Please don't be – you did say I could sell it."

"I have, Glosswen nîn", he said and brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I have...and I am not angry. You are not a good liar, Glosswen nîn. He has taken your snowflake against your will, has he not? Yes, I can see that, for you are looking glum. But why have you allowed him to take it?"

"I cannot tell you. It would sadden you." Worse than that. He would hate her, and still be unable to leave her. Poor Lalaithlanthir. She had meant to tell him, someday. If she had know he wanted to marry her...but it was too late.

"Nothing could sadden me more than seeing you like this", he replied softly, "Tell me the truth, Glosswen nîn."

"No, I cannot...everything I will do for you, but not that."

"Then tell me the name your parents have given you."

"Oh, that I can tell you, I am...wait! I know what you're planning! You'll ask for my brother!"

"I will, Glosswen, and I can do it without your name. I can see that you did not give my present away freely, and more I need not know to retrieve it."

"But he...he threatened to tell you something, about me, and you must never know it. It would cause you great sorrow."

"Oh Glosswen nîn, that you are mortal I already know, and nothing could cause me more sorrow than that." With this, he ran away, swift as the wind, and he didn't stop when she called for him.


End file.
